Every Day Begins the Same
by joemoe93
Summary: "Don't you feel it?" Isaac murmurs. "Ever? Feel like you're going to burn up if the wind doesn't cool you down? Feel like your legs might explode if you don't get up and run?" "No," Scott says, eyes fluttering closed. "I like where I am. I don't even know where I'd go."


Even when he's not under its cloying spell, Isaac can feel the moon pulling at him. He can feel great tides of wanderlust tugging his heart, urging him to run. A part of him—the inhuman growl rumbling in the back of his mind—wants to reach for the moon itself, even though he knows it's pointless. Yet even as cold and unreachable it is, he can feel it mocking him even as it beckons.

He can't bring himself to hate it.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine times he leaves. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, ducks under his hood, and simply walks away. Or he takes a lap at practice, except he never quite makes that curve and the last glimpse the school catches of him is the back of his jersey rippling with the motion of his body At least for that day. Or sometimes he lets the curse rise unbidden in his blood, feels changes crawling over his face and hands, and lopes out under the brilliance of the moon.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine times he comes back. It wouldn't be right to leave without paying his respects, so he turns on his heel and finds himself on his knees in front of two aging headstones and a fresh one. What's one more day? People would worry; he doesn't want their concern haunting his trail. What's another morning spent remembering?

The last time he leaves, he wakes up early enough to watch the dawn. Sometimes he imagines the sun burning the curse from his shaded bones, but it never sears deep enough. This particular sunrise doesn't break so much as swell, overcast and distant. That distance is what sparks the longing.

For an hour or two he simply stands looking out the window, arms folded against the morning chill. He barely moves to keep his muscles from locking up until a voice snaps his attention back to the here and now.

"If you're cold, you should get back in bed."

"You know werewolves don't get cold that easily," Isaac replies.

"You should still get back in bed," Scott says, voice husky with sleep.

"I think I have to leave."

"Time for a quick snuggle?"

"Scott."

The sheets rustle. Isaac turns toward the bed. Scott is curled on his side, sheets drawn in tight, looking up at Isaac.

"Okay" is all he says.

Isaac sighs and climbs onto the bed. He drapes his arm over Scott and rests his head so they're sharing the pillow.

"Don't you feel it?" Isaac murmurs. "Ever? Feel like you're going to burn up if you don't let the breeze cool you down? Feel like your legs might explode if you don't get up and run?"

"No," Scott says, eyes fluttering closed. "I like where I am. I don't even know where I'd go."

"It's not about where. It's about someplace new. It's about getting there."

"Mm."

Isaac feels the frame of Scott's muscular shoulders through the sheets. All the sinew in the world couldn't bind him to this place.

"Scott?"

"Mm?"

"You have school today. You need to get up."

"Mm-mm."

Isaac stands and reaches for his clothes piled on the floor.

"Mm..." Scott groans in protest. "What about a goodbye-blowjob?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'll wait." They're talking about something else, suddenly.

Isaac scoffs. "Yeah, that's what you told Allison, and look where that got her."

"The difference is that I didn't know if Allison was coming back."

I guess I'm lucky. I don't have anyone.

That was probably true, once; he can't remember it now. Now home is branded into his mind as firmly as a needle pointing north.

A thousand times he comes back.

He doesn't even knock anymore when he goes in Scott's house. Mrs McCall had told him he was always welcome ("Honestly, I think she's just glad we can't get pregnant," Scott had said). The clock on the stove blinks 12:38 in the darkness of the kitchen.

He pauses only to kick off his shoes as he stumbles into Scott's room. Not even his werewolf reflexes can overcome his fatigue. He tries to lower himself gently, quietly onto the bed.

"Do you know how I knew?" Scott asks without warning.

Isaac presses up against Scott's back and curls around him. Burying his face in the crook of his shoulder, Isaac shakes his head.

"You told me you didn't have anyone, a while ago. A long time ago, it feels like, doesn't it? Well, you have someone now. You have more than someone."

Isaac struggles to keep his eyes open. His breaths become rhythmic, almost in time with Scott's.

"You have a family," Scott says. "You have Derek now more than ever. You have Erica and Boyd and Jackson. You have my mom. And you have me."

One time he stays.


End file.
